


Touch

by PlotWitch



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: BDSM, Blood Play, Dominance, F/M, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Submission, mild dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-05
Updated: 2006-12-05
Packaged: 2019-03-15 18:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13619487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlotWitch/pseuds/PlotWitch
Summary: “Pain and death aren’t career choices. They’re a way of life.”A favor turns into something else when Anita runs into Edward at a Masque.





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge #2 (deathsdomain2—Yahoo Group)  
> Issued by Kendra; “Let me adjust the straps for you.”; “If we sleep together, will I like you better?”; “Save the rest for later.”; “I’m not like all the other girls.”; “Pain and death aren’t career choices. They’re a way of life.”; “I wanted to pluck my own eyes out.”; a video camera, a dagger, diamond cuff links, an Italian renaissance dress.
> 
> This fic plays with the idea of pain + sex = pleasure. Sadism and masochism, dominance and submission, blood play, etc. will be explored a bit here. Blame Kendra and that one line: “Pain and death aren’t career choices. They’re a way of life.” This can probably be considered to have dubious consent to a sexual act, as well, but very mild.

The dress she had chosen for the masque was a lovely reproduction whose design dated to the Italian renaissance. It was not, to Jean-Claude’s disappointment, the more flowery romance of his own French roots. Instead its power lay in the passion of its colors and drape, nearly begging for each tiny closure to be slipped open to reveal pale skin like milk.

Anita thought, in fact, that Jean-Claude’s true disappointment lay in the fact that she had only agreed to attend the first annual masque at Danse Macabre with him. And nothing further.

Her return from Santa Fe two years prior had been something of an anticlimax, with Jean-Claude and Richard trying to push her into relationships with each of them, separate or together. And with her ending their power struggles by putting a silver bullet each into their knees and, while they writhed on the ground in a dance of agony and speedy healing, explained to them that she was no man’s property and she was perfectly capable of choosing her own bedmates.

Of which they would no longer be.

Too much had stayed with her from her adventure with Edward. He had, for one. She could never stop thinking of the fact that he would have settled for it, the family life, the wife and children and two dogs. That he would have been happy with it. If it had been anyone else. And Detective Ramirez, who had told her plainly that she wasn’t with the man she was meant to be with if she was still having doubts.

His doubts, however, had been erased when he met with Donna to console her after Ted left her. Amicably, but still painful. They had been married now for almost a year, and were expecting their first child together. It was Anita’s understanding that Becca was overjoyed, having recovered quite well from her torture and abuse. And Peter… Well, Peter was still in therapy.

But doing better, if his attempts at normal were anything.

But the dress, the point of contention, was not the frilly peach and gold horror that Jean-Claude had originally offered her to wear. He had told her that it matched his chosen costume perfectly, and that they needed to present as solid a front as possible, for the event was being publicized throughout the country.

Anita had taken one look at his choice and told him he was lucky she had agreed to go at all. Then she had hopped in her truck, and made the several hours long drive to Springfield to hunt her own costume down, finally nailing it in a small shop that was tucked out of the way of the average tourist.

She’d stumbled on it when she was lost, looking for a costume shop and thinking that going as a chicken might piss Jean-Claude off enough that he would finally leave her alone. Even Richard had learned, but not Jean-Claude. But the shop had been there, across the street, with pretty baubles and scarves in the windows draped around the dress. Her dress.

It was gathered below her breasts with seams of ribbing running down to her waistline, and the ribbon that emphasized it. The bodice was a soft sage green with cream blended in, and the silk chemise that spilled out and cupped her breasts matched it, only a bit more cream than her skin, which was as pale as it had ever been.

The skirts fell without much fuss, unlike the empire-waisted atrocity Jean-Claude had offered. They were shades darker than the rest, matching the not quite fitted sleeves and brushing softly against her legs with each step she took. The back was secured by dozens of tiny, tiny silver clasps in the shape of crosses.

They had been a nasty surprise for Jean-Claude when he had reached to escort her in and been rewarded by the flaring of fire before jerking away. He hadn’t offered to touch her again.

At her wrists were silver cuffs set with jade, and a choker at her neck secured by two black, velvet straps that tied tightly in the back before falling in rippling ribbons to her waist. The stone in it was larger than either at her wrists, and the weight was almost uncomfortable. But it was acceptable, and she didn’t complain.

Her hair was curled, still. Pulled back by two combs that lifted it from her face and throat, baring it and allowing the curls to cascade down in layers. She knew that if she gave one tug, it would all come tumbling down. But there would be no sensual fall of dark curls. Not tonight, not with Jean-Claude.

Her only concession to him had been the boots he’d commissioned for her years ago. Low heeled, easy to move in, black leather. They were much better than regular pumps, or anything that matched the dress. They let her _move_ and be free of him when she wanted. Not having her totter around feeling that she was going to come crashing to a halt if she took the slightest misstep.

It was nine o’clock when they arrived. It was ten o’clock when she decided she was bored, and left Jean-Claude to his adoring public.

She was, in her mind, out of place. She didn’t belong with the many people who milled about in casual disguises that could be rented cheaply. But neither had she fit with Jean-Claude’s entourage. They were all dressed in the peach and gold she had scorned, and her soft green costume had made her stand out. Even with the light mask, she had felt conspicuous, if only because everyone knew who she was.

She was in a corner of the lower level, watching the dancers move fluidly in their skins, when she saw him.

He was dressed in black with glittering accoutrements that winked from his wrists and shirt. Diamonds, she thought. Diamond buttons, cufflinks, shining diamonds around his eyes that were hidden so well by his own mask. Black feathers drifted back from his shoulders in dark wings that spread around him, and a smirk decorated his curving lips.

She was caught by that smirk, by that mouth. It was so familiar. She’d seen that smirk many times before, in her mind, in her dreams.

“Edward,” she said with a ghost of a smile when he had threaded his way across the room to her darkened little corner.

“Anita. Lovely dress,” he said easily, reaching a hand out to brush across the soft material on one arm.

She smiled. “I’m not like all the other girls,” she replied sardonically.

His voice was cryptic when he answered her, saying, “No, you’re not,” as his hand slid down her arm, nails raking across the fabric that encased it, to take hold of her hand and pull her out to the dance floor.

They danced, bodies moving in synchronization with the low pulse of the music. His arms went around her as he pulled her closer against his body. Her breath hitched in when she scraped across the glittering gems on his chest, and she put a hand to his body to avoid the scratching.

“Glass?” asked Anita as she looked down and saw the faint red welts across the slope of her breasts. He nodded and she smiled. “They looked like diamonds,” she murmured.

He smiled, his face coming down very close to hers. “Some of them are,” he whispered as his mouth pressed against hers, teeth grating across her lower lip and catching it, worrying it as she turned her face up to kiss him back.

“We should go,” he whispered, his eyes bright and blue behind the mask.

She considered it. “If we sleep together, will I like you better?”

“Probably not,” he answered. She smiled.

 

“Was it an expensive dress?” Edward asked as he laid her down on the bed in his hotel suite, fingers dancing impatiently across the closures. She nodded and he smiled. “Pity.”

A dagger appeared at his fingers and he delicately insinuated it between the side seams of her bodice, slicing down and parting it to reveal the cream silk underneath. It was a true chemise, falling to her knees and enveloping her in the soft whisper of silk as he pulled the remnants of her dress from her and left it to lie on the floor.

He slipped the dagger along the silk but didn’t cut, only laid it next to her on the bed before undoing the pretty glass buttons on his doublet. He held it up to her when he had taken it off, fingers running across the buttons and then to the cuffs.

“Pretty glass, but not worth much. These,” he said with a small flourish as he plucked the matching cufflinks from the cuffs and held them out to her in the palm of her hand. “These, though, are worth a not so small fortune.”

Anita looked, fingers running across the brilliant edges. “Then these are diamonds?” she asked with a smile.

He nodded, dropped one in her hand and took the other to run slightly across the skin of her breast. It left a scratch that welled pinkish red with blood.

Anita’s breath hissed in and her eyes slipped closed. Her mouth was parted slightly as she breathed with the very minor pain, and then harder as his mouth covered hers and _took_ her breath, tongue swiping in and running across her teeth, mouth devouring her and making her just _feel_.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered to her. “Tell me to hurt you.”

She whimpered slightly under the pressing of his fingers into her hips, certain that she’d have bruises in the morning, and no longer sure whether she cared. The thought of him marking her as his… It sent chills down her spine, and she sighed, “Please.”

“Tell me,” he growled, his voice urgent as his mouth bit and tugged at the choker around her neck.

“Can’t,” she managed to gasp out, pulling back, pulling away and putting a hand to her throat. “I can’t think, Edward. Please, let me think.”

His hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around the velvet that was already tight at her throat. He yanked her forward, her eyes going wide as her head jolted back. “Every time you think you fuck someone you shouldn’t. _“Why should I let you think?”_ he hissed out, tightening his hold on her.

“Please,” she gasped, her hands wrapping around his wrist.

“The vampire, the werewolf. Who else do you fuck?”

She felt the combs in her hair slip a little as he threaded his other hand into her curls, tugging her head back and forcing her to look him in the eye. “You saw?” she asked in a whisper.

“I wanted to pluck my own eyes out,” he spat back.

His fingers began to bite into her neck, cutting off her air. And as spots began to dance before her eyes she felt the heat pooling between her legs and she understood it, understood him. She swallowed and opened her eyes wide, willing to see his face, to look at the eyes that were dark and angry at her.

“Hurt me,” she said. “I want this; I want you to hurt me.”

His fingers loosened a little, and she gasped in a breath, letting the dark dizziness wash away with each new inhalation. His mouth covered hers again, but gently and not demanding. Giving to her as much as it took. He pressed kisses to her lips and cheek and throat before coming back to her face and running a hand over her cheek.

He smiled as he lay her back, plucking the combs from her hair as easily as he breathed, and leaning close to kiss her again. “Let me adjust the straps for you,” he whispered as his fingers slipped behind her neck and untied the velvet that bound her throat.

When it was free, when she was free of everything but silk, he tilted her head back and kissed her throat. This time his teeth found the pulsing vein there, and closed around it, digging in and in until she was gasping and moaning. He moved further down her throat to the juncture where her neck met her body, pausing to deliver another bite.

There was a slicing sound and she opened her eyes, trying to sit up. “No,” Edward whispered. “I won’t hurt you. Much.”

She laid back, feeling the cold warmth of the metal as it moved across her skin, pausing to tilt every so often, but never cutting in to her, only cutting the silk that covered. The air was cool on her heated flesh everywhere the knife parted silk, and soon she couldn’t tell where she was covered and where he could see, the heat from her body emanating until she couldn’t even feel the air, only the dagger running across her skin.

Until the first cut.

Short, shallow, barely bleeding. But the sting as her sweat ran into it, the movement of the dagger as it pierced, the heat in his eyes as he watched her face. It was very nearly more than she could bear, and she moaned low in her throat.

He trailed a finger across it, smearing red on her skin and she bit back the second moan when he slid the red tinged finger into his mouth and sucked. She was lost then, giving herself over to the sensation of the blade biting into her, the blood welling, the way it ran crimson over her pale skin and the feel of his fingers, hotter than her own blood on her body.

And when the tip of the knife made its way through her damp curls to press against the nub of her clitoris she gasped, eyes flying open. Edward merely smiled and pressed it a little harder, not drawing blood but letting the knife bite into her at her most sensitive part.

She came, legs trembling and eyes closing and breath gasping.

She was weak with it when he finally laid the knife aside and pulled the tattered silk from her body. His pants joined it on the floor and he moved over her, parting her legs easily and running his tongue across the myriad wounds on her chest.

Anita whimpered low in her throat, her voice harsh when she begged him. “Please, Edward, I need you inside me.”

For all of it, Edward merely smiled and guided himself to her heat, nudging at her but not entering. She raised up and wrapped her arms around him, legs tightening at his waist and pulling him closer. And she nearly came when she bit down on the side of Edward’s neck and he gave a hoarse cry and rammed into her, throbbing and refusing to move.

She growled in frustration, but he pushed her back down to the bed, looking at her, his eyes wide and clear blue. “You understand now, don’t you?” he asked.

“I understand pain,” she replied back.

He smiled. “No. Not just that.” She nodded cautiously, and he smiled again, brilliant in the middle of the moment. “Pain and death aren’t career choices. They’re a way of life,” he murmured.

She nodded again. “Our way of life.”

He kissed her as he withdrew, until he had nearly pulled out of her before thrusting back in, groaning and grunting as he fucked her. His voice was hoarse when he cried out as she raked her nails down his back, and he relished in the feel of the warm trails that began to drip.

The pain was something, he thought, that made the sex even better. Adding to it with the unrestrained pain and glory of it. his mouth sought hers, tongues twining as they both fought for their pleasure, hurting one another, relishing in the pain the other brought, until suddenly she slipped over the edge screaming.

The way she clenched around him, tight and loose and throbbing was more than his body could take and he came in hot spurts. The movement of their bodies drew it out for even longer than it had already lasted; the smallest shift making pain and pleasure course through them till they were left wet and wringing with sweat and blood.

 

Anita was the first to move, shifting over to him to lay her head on his stomach. He’d never cut her enough that she would still be bleeding. The only reason she knew he had was the blood and the faints ting that tingled across her skin where salted sweat had blended into the cuts.

She ran a hand over the curve of her left breast. That was the only place he’d truly hurt her. But she would not complain, because he hadn’t cut her breast at all. He’d left them pristine and white and clean. But for one thing.

On the curve, a bloody imprint against the otherwise clean skin, was a perfect circle of teeth marks where he had marked her. Branded her. _Made her his._

It ached as she rubbed fingers over it.

“Are you okay?”

Edward’s voice was quiet and hesitant in the still air. The air was redolent with the scents of sex and blood and lust. No matter that she had just had two of the most intense orgasms of her life. Anita was still hungry for more.

“She smiled before moving up to lay her face even with his. “I’m good. Very good,” she added with a smile.

“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked, his voice very wary.

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t ask you to do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I find it hard to believe that you ever thought about anything like this before.”

She shrugged. “I asked you to hurt me. Begged, even.”

“Under duress,” he replied. “Forgive me?”

“Always,” she answered. “We can save the rest for later.”


End file.
